


Of Mages and Men

by cantodelcolibri



Series: Finding You Can Change [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, i just have a lot of feelings about carver and i had to get them out somehow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9760367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantodelcolibri/pseuds/cantodelcolibri
Summary: Let's talk about Anders.





	

“Let’s talk.” 

“About what.” Carver asked, even if he knew his tone of voice could hardly count as ‘asking’. It sounded more like the premature death of a conversation. Garrett hooked his elbow around his neck anyway, and led them down a side alley while Carver tried to keep from wriggling in his grasp like a child. 

“About Anders, little brother.” 

“That great pillock? What, this had to wait until we left him in his hovel?” They had just risen from the grimy walls of Darktown onto the grimy streets of Lowtown. Isabela was back safe and sound in the Hanged Man. Garrett was escorting him to the docks because he couldn’t trust Carver, a fully initiated bloody Templar in his own right, to be able to fend for himself should the weather turn foul and it start,  _ ‘-raining men, Carver, get it? Because they call themselves The Reign-’ _

_ ‘I get it.’  _

“Well, yes. You see, I am quite fond of you both being on this side of the Veil, but Anders got quite a bit glowy back there and I am just a tad tired of having to break off your fights. Even Fenris doesn’t-”

“Just because you’re able to call off your rabid dog doesn’t mean you’ll be able to muzzle me, Garrett.”

“Kinky.” Carver felt his helmet get pulled off by force magic, then a hand ruffled his hair viciously. 

“Do shut up.” He complained and shoved his brother off. The advantages of heavy armor, Garrett had to steady himself on a mossy wall. “If Anders can’t handle some honest critique about the subtlety of his clinic being the obvious origin point for all his ridiculous propaganda, then I’ll just sign up for the team that’ll cart him off, I will!”

“Oh Carver, I do appreciate that you try, but you don’t exactly have the best way of going about it.” 

“What would you have me say, brother? ‘Oh Anders, terribly sorry if this offends your delicate sensibilities, but you wouldn’t happen to mind telling your customers not to be completely fucking mental and sing your bloody praises right outside the blasted Circle?’”

“That might work better than a vague threat about what you can get away with in that armor, Carver.” They reached the docks, and Carver was relieved to see the last ferry hadn’t left yet. He saw a few of his fellow Templars idling by the shallow waves, kicking at driftwood. He stopped Garrett before they and his staff got spotted. 

“Oh for goodness’ sake it wasn’t a threat!” He hissed and backed them both into the shadows. “He’s getting people taken in by the guard, Garrett! Aveline has to do her job and Meredith is one loon away from locking people up in the tower!”

Garrett let himself be pushed and looked down at him with a raised brow. “If it wasn’t a threat, what was it?” 

Carver let out a low sound of disgust, “If both you and he would get out of your self-involved pigheaded arses you would know it was…” admitting to the fact that Carver had tried to offer his help to an extremist apostate that close to his fellow Templars felt a bit too risky. So he shook his head and backed off instead. “Forget it. Be careful going home, yeah? I wouldn’t much enjoy scraping your corpse off the cobblestones on my patrol shift tomorrow.” 

“Love you too, little brother.” 

* * *

“Andraste’s blessed arse, not another one.” Carver heard coming from down the outer hall of the Circle tower. Once he made it around the bend, he saw a gaggle of mage girls hopping on their tiptoes to watch the ruckus outside, and one tired guard trying half-heartedly to herd them back into the study. 

“And those wretches hiding behind their blessed Maker’s skirts will-!!” Carver arrived at the window just in time for the little man stories below to get clocked by a Templar whose face was hidden by their helmet. His unconscious body was picked up by two of the city guard that rushed over to intervene on the citizen’s behalf. 

Carver switched patrol shifts with a newbie Templar that didn’t know any better and stomped off to the putrid tunnels of Darktown that very night. 

“Carver?” Anders’ voice was a whisper in the gloom, staff outstretched to reach for the bloody lantern that alerted everyone with ears and eyes to where he’d be, if the robes and the five foot long glorified stick he carried weren’t enough of a giveaway.  _ To find the healer, look for the lit lantern.  _ Stupid. Stupid and risky and thoughtless. 

“A word?” he hissed, marching past him to the hidden door that led into the Hawke estate’s cellars. Anders put out the lantern and followed him in, staff lighting up like a torch once he had secured the door behind him. 

“A word? Alone? With a Templar? Would you like me to leave my staff behind as well?” he said sarcastically, waving the flames to further his point. They lit the moist rocky walls of the cellar as they ascended the steps. Carver snorted. 

“If you think I believe you to be helpless without a conduit while you’re piggybacking that demon of yours, you severely underestimate not only me, but also the Templar Order.” 

“Ah, but forgive me! I was not aware of how advanced an education the Templars offered their recruits! Truly something to marvel at, given they didn’t take the time to teach you the difference between a  _ demon _ and a  _ spirit.”  _

“I bloody well know the difference, or did you forget I grew up in a household of magic?” Carver shot back. His feet met level ground and he stopped in the middle of the small room lined with barrels. 

“Yes, and then you spat in their memory by joining the ranks of their enemies!” 

“Last I checked, Garrett’s alive and obnoxious as ever, and he’s learned to make peace with my decision.” Carver saw Anders ready himself to launch another jab at him, and he suddenly felt  _ tired. _ He held up a hand before he could speak. “And I don’t owe you an explanation for what I’m doing, Anders. I didn’t come here to trade insults.” 

Anders seemed to deflate, “Then why are you here?” He tipped his head to the side, curtain of oily strawberry blond hair falling onto his shoulder. In that moment, he looked old, older than his years, though Carver knew distinctly the gap in age between them. Old and almost as exhausted as Carver felt. Despite how Merrill, Bela, and Garrett teased him, Carver didn’t actually  _ like  _ being antagonistic all the time, everyone around him just insisted on being difficult and getting on his nerves. 

In front of him was a prime example. “Meredith is one lunatic away from snapping and locking up one of your zealots, and I can assure you she will not be gentle with them. The law of the land is strained as it is, Aveline will have another headache in her hands if you don’t get your groupies under control.” 

“They’re not groupies.” Anders huffed, hung up on the dumbest part of Carver’s speech. He frowned down at him, and Carver felt annoyance at having to look up to meet his eye. Bastard was taller than Garrett, he always forgot. “Change isn’t achieved by quiet passivity, Carver.”  

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, “Can you, Maker’s Bride, can you at least  _ try  _ to be more discreet!? I won’t be assigned to the Darktown patrols forever, I won’t be able to reroute the Templars and they  _ will  _ find your operation, Anders. Your patients are vocal in their gratitude.”

Anders slammed his staff against the earthy floor. “As well they should be! Let the Templars come! If I can be of aid to but one-!” 

“You won’t be able to aid anyone from the gallows, Anders!”

“Are you threatening me?!” Carver hadn’t realized Anders had been slouching until he straightened to his full height. He raised his eyebrows, unimpressed with the display. 

“I’m trying to help, you daft waste of mana! I’ve  _ been _ trying to help for ages, but you’ve got your head stuck so far up your arse your eyes are caked in shit!” Somewhere along the line, he had begun to yell. Garrett would probably hear him and come barreling downstairs at any moment. But for now, they remained alone. 

Anders, opened his mouth to retort, but ended up gaping at him like a fish. Carver resisted the urge to snort at the mental image. 

“Wh-why? Why are you here? Maker, you’re a Templar! Shouldn’t you be trying to arrest me?” 

Despite his protests that he owed no one an explanation, Carver found his mouth running through the explanation he privately used on nights when he had to intervene to keep a guard from getting handsy with a young mage. On nights when he did his best to shield the youngest from Meredith’s rage. Nights he had to sneak food to boys like Garrett, boys born in storms too headstrong to know when to bow their heads. 

“I would no sooner arrest you than I would my brother.” He didn’t sugarcoat his words. He didn’t have Garrett’s grace of saying the wrong thing with enough charm to make it right. “If you gave me cause, I would not hesitate. Not if it kept people safe. But you, now, are trying to do good by your fellow apostates, and I would not wish the Tower on anyone unless, as I said,  _ they were a danger.”  _

“I am not Fenris. I grew up surrounded by mages, yes, but I loved them. I am not blind, Anders. I know your struggles, at least I know them well enough to sympathize and want to  _ help. _ ” Carver didn’t know if it was him talking anymore, or the time of night. 

“Templars are supposed to  _ help.  _ Be the shield between mages and those that would fear them, hurt them. Maintain order. Was it wrong of me to try to help others in that way, now that I can? Now that I’m strong enough, now Garrett has the others, and Bethany’s g-” 

The words that had flowed so easily rose to choke at his throat. He clapped a hand sheathed in chainmail and leather to his mouth and glared at Anders, daring him to poke fun. 

Anders, to his credit, looked to be at a complete loss. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and clasped his shoulder. 

“Bethany was… your sister, right? The one that didn’t survive the Blight?”

Carver nodded sharply. He tried to correct him, tell him she had been his twin, his better half, laughter and sunshine personified, but all that came out was a strangled sort of croak. Of course. Of course all the sleepless nights and the overexertion and stress would catch up to him the night he decided to face the mage with a superiority complex. Bela was going to be insufferable once she got wind of this.

“You know, we-” Anders tried to give him a little half-smile, the expression changing his face into something… something else. Someone less tired, less old. “We haven’t really spoken all that much in all these years, have we? At least, not to this extent, and oh-” “He gave a little gasp, sounding incredibly heartbroken. “You’re so  _ young,  _ aren’t you?” 

“Oh don’t you start-!” Carver finally found his voice to snap at him and shove his hand away. Ander’s little smile became a full-blown grin. He laughed. 

“There you are. Much better, I’m not used to you displaying any emotion other than ‘severely displeased’. I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, to be honest.” 

“Fucking arsehole. So your solution is to piss me off?!” 

“‘Pissed off’ does happen to be your default. Honestly, the face you were making. Was this Bethany a master at puppy eyes too? Is it a Hawke family trait?”

Carver pushed him, the action easy seeing as Anders was more skin and bone than anything these days. Carver made a mental note to hassle Garrett into making him eat. “Fuck you. Fuck you and fuck this. I don’t even know why I bothered. Get yourself arrested for all I care, see if I go out of my way to help you again you insufferable-” 

“Careful, Carver. I’m beginning to get a whiff of deflection.” 

“And I’m catching a whiff of the sewers.” Carver turned and led them up the staircase leading up to the entrance to the manor. “Honestly, when is the last time you bathed? Or does the scent of Darktown just cling to you?” 

“You’re one to talk. Ever change out of that under armor?” Anders shoved past him and pulled out the key to the estate’s door from the belt on his hip. 

“Yes.” Carver answered plainly despite the fact he  _ had _ been slowly roasting in his armor the entire day. Anders snorted, seemingly seeing right through him. The key turned in the lock and he stepped forward into the open doorway. He spoke as he led the way into the dark, quiet house. 

“Look, I appreciate the concern, if you can even call it that- no, alright fine- yes, your heartfelt concern that led to you screaming at me in a dank cellar. It’s appreciated. I’ll try to get them to hand out my manifesto a bit more quietly, would that be good enough for you?”  

“I already said I don’t care, besides-” Carver got cut off when Dog came rushing in from the main hall. He toppled Anders over in his haste to get to Carver, and Anders fell directly onto him. Mid-step, with no time to brace himself and wearing eighty pounds of metal, Carver’s ass met the floor and then his face quickly became reacquainted with a slobbering mabari tongue. 

In his struggle to get up and untangle his limbs, Anders smacked his elbow into Carver’s chestplate and cursed at the pain, then rolled over and managed to dislodge Dog from where she had draped herself along Carver’s side. She whined but padded over to Carver’s other side and nudged at his head while Carver tried in vain to right himself enough to stand. 

“Oh,” Anders looked down at him with that smile again, and Carver stared up with wide eyes. The healer offered a hand to pull him up, “Here, let me.”

_ ‘Oh.’  _ Carver thought, taking his hand.  _ ‘Shit.’ _

**Author's Note:**

> i dont even know


End file.
